


romance is never straightforward

by lacedwithlilacs



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Child Yeeting, Arranged Marriage, Blow Jobs, Drabbles, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Forced Marriage, Hyakinthia, Kassandra is Deimos (Assassin's Creed), Kassandra is awkward, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-11-13 07:52:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18027740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacedwithlilacs/pseuds/lacedwithlilacs
Summary: A collection of drabbles for Kassandra and Brasidas





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i prefer more of a 'i didn't mean it that way' kassandra to a 'right words at the right time' kassandra than a lot of fics that i read.
> 
> if anyone remembers that scene where you can tell odessa she's cute and then respond 'okay then, you're ugly' to her protests; that's the inspiration for this

Brasidas thinks that of all the things he loves about Kassandra, (her determination or her strong moral compass that always errs on the side of those left behind by society or her or the way they fit together so easily) her awkwardness is one of his favorites. She says things that come to her mind without a second thought, with a confidence that keeps him from laughing aloud when he realizes she’s serious. He had asked about Kephallonia once, sitting on top of a cliff overlooking the Praisai fort and the sea. “It smells like shit and the people there are stupid.” He waited for her to continue, but she looked at him with such an air of finality that he immediately realized she was done.

“You don’t miss it ever? It was your home for so long.”

Kassandra groaned a bit at the mention of home, like it pained her to think of Kephallonia as home. Despite her insistence that Kephallonia was not her home, sometimes her Achaian dialect slipped out so thick he was taken aback. “I could say it was beautiful, but I don’t like to lie.” She chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment, “But sometimes I miss the simplicity. On Kephallonia, I only had to fend off random thugs.”

He loves her awkwardness because she so rarely shows it to others. It’s never on purpose, or at least he hopes it isn’t. To other people, she’s the Eagle Bearer, the one who saves the day and leaves like a real goddess. Or she’s the ferryman himself, sent to remove souls from Hellas with a quick movement of her spear. He tries to imagine what people who’ve only heard of her imagine: a swift, strong woman who will listen to their plights if they pray hard enough. But here she is, in his apartment, wearing his red cloak tight around her like a cocoon. Beneath the bright red fabric, she has smaller blossoms of red on her skin from where Brasidas had sucked kisses too hard and too long earlier. She’s laughing at him trying to pry the cloth away from her, ducking just out of reach and contorting her body to fit past the narrow awkward opening he’s left between his body and the wall.

“Kassandra, by the gods,” he is exasperated, but in the best way possible, “don’t soil my uniform.”

“That’s what makes this the most fun,” she teases with a quick dart of sticking her tongue out at him. She will be the death of him. He thinks he has her cornered, literally between his table and the fire hearth, but then she’s gone and standing on top of his couch. “Come on Brasidas of Sparta, is that the best you’ve got?”

He makes a last-ditch tackle, throwing his entire body at her. She lets out a loud squeal as he pins her down on the couch, grabbing at her wrists and untangling them from his cloak. Kassandra is letting him win, this much he knows, but he doesn’t care. If she gets any evidence of their lovemaking on his military uniform, there will be hell to pay. When she’s finally bare, he lets go of her wrists and pulls her into his arms instead, where she can’t get to his other clothing and try to wear that inappropriately too.

Time slows around them as he gazes into her eyes, the world stopping beneath his feet. He loves her, so entirely it scares him sometimes. “My heart, you’ve got the stars in your eyes,” he says to her, dusting her cheeks and jaw with kisses.

Kassandra blushes, another of his favorite things, embarrassed at being complimented like this. He wonders what he might have to say for her blush to reach the tips of her ears, to bloom onto her chest. A quest for another day. She averts her gaze from his eyes, instead studying his face with a soft smile. “You,” she whispers, “have pomegranate juice on your lips.” He doesn’t expect that at all, yet, part of him somehow does when it comes from her.

She raises her hand, licking at the pad of her thumb and brings it to his lips. She scrubs the dried juice from his lips and smiles at her work. He can barely believe her sometimes. “Thank you,” he says simply as she licks the mess off of her finger and places her hand on his shoulder.

Kassandra’s smile falls and that blush begins to creep up higher on her cheekbones. “Oh wait, that wasn’t romantic was it?” She asks it as a question, but they both know the answer.

Brasidas shakes his head with a hearty laugh, “Not at all, my love.” Still, he pulls her in for a kiss, savoring the barely-there, lingering taste of pomegranate on her tongue.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a fill for an ongoing 30 days challenge that is definitely not being updated daily. 
> 
> prompt - first time

The Monger being dead should be reason enough to celebrate, but Brasidas feels more a pang of sadness as he drinks wine with Kassandra on the deck of the Adrestia. She’s supposed to set out for Pirate Island tomorrow and he’ll start heading south towards Sparta tomorrow to report on the situation to the kings. It’s only been a few short weeks since they met in that burning warehouse, where they performed a Spartan dance with the synchronicity of longtime friends or those fated to be together. Not enough time together, Brasidas thinks, scowling at his reflection in his amphora of wine.

“We’ll meet again,” Kassandra says like she’s read his mind, or perhaps he wears his thoughts too readily on his face again. An amateur’s mistake, but one most definitely fueled by both the wine and the aura of the woman sitting next to him. “Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me, Brasidas of Sparta.”

“I would certainly hope we meet again, perhaps under better circumstances though.” They kissed once, bandit bodies decaying around them in the musty darkness of the Monger’s cave. She had taken his advice and given him both the relief of being able to sleep without one hand on his spear in Korinth and a single kiss, his heart in his throat. “Maybe next time we could,” he trails off. Run off together into the sunset? Spend a week together and then spend a year apart?

She knows what he wants to say, probably because the more wine he drinks, the harder it is to steel his emotions. “Why wait until next time?” She closes the gap between them, placing her hands on the sides of his face and kissing with a forceful grace that only Kassandra could possess. She pulls away, her face flushed from the wine or the kiss (or both), “We have all night.”

He quickly finishes off the last of his wine before setting the amphora down on the deck bench as she stands. She grabs his hand and pulls, giving him ample time to back out, but then he’s following her below deck and there’s no going back anymore. She motions him into what could easily be passed off as a closet, a mattress laying on the floor, an extra set of armor tossed clumsily in the corner of the room. He should have expected her sparse living quarters.

Kassandra crowds him against the door the second it closes behind him, her hands pushing up beneath his breastplate. His hands find her hips as he kisses her, tasting the mix of sea salt, wine, and blood on her lips. She kisses hard, biting at his bottom lip as he pulls her closer to him, grinding his hips against hers needily. She soothes her nips with her tongue, dragging her lips down his neck, leaving marks on his neck that will bloom bright pink beneath his beard.

There’s too much between them, too many layers of cloth and steel separating their skin. Kassandra had met him on the deck wearing just a simple chiton, but he had come in full armor and he wants it gone now, wants to feel her bare breasts pressed against his skin. He tugs at her chiton until she removes her lips from his neck, taking a step back from him to pull it over her head.

Brasidas takes the opportunity to shed as much as he can in record time, armor clattering loudly to the floor and his underclothing falling on top of it. He moves forward towards her, colliding with her and pushing them ungracefully onto her low mattress. She lets out a small huff of laughter as he kisses at her jaw and lips, kissing specifically at the scar over her upper lip. Her hands slide down his sides, fingertips leaving ghosting trails of fire across his skin. He threads his fingers through her hair, pulling strands from her signature braid before she reaches back up and removes the leather strap holding it all together.

He takes the opportunity to move down her body, kissing at her nipple, licking at the hardened nub as she sighs beneath him. He brings a hand up, rubbing the other between his thumb and index finger, listening to her sighs evolve into soft moans. Brasidas decides he could die here, listening to Kassandra slowly unravel beneath him, her fingers carding through his hair, blunt fingertips digging into his scalp. He gently grazes his teeth over her nipple, her hips bucking up against him as he pulls away, kissing a trail down her stomach. He leaves a kiss over every scar and birthmark he runs across before sucking a mark just above her navel.

Her scent is strong and musky in a way he can’t truly describe, overpowering his senses as he kisses her inner thighs. “Do not tease me Brasidas,” she warns, her fingers still in his hair, pushing him greedily towards her center. There will be time for that later, later after they’re both temporarily sated but still wide awake. Instead, he lets her guide him to her core, running the pads of his fingers through her slickness, rubbing gentle circles over the bundle of nerves.

He smirks as she digs her fingernails a bit deeper into his skin, urging him forward ever more. He finally relents, mostly because he can’t bring himself to tease her any more despite her warning. She moans low and long as he licks a long stripe up through her folds once, twice, and a third time. Kassandra grips at his hair as she bucks her hips against his face. He watches her as he continues his ministrations, her free hand coming up and toying with her nipple as she falls apart beneath Brasidas’s tongue. He grinds his own hips against the mattress, but it’s not enough, he wants to feel her entirely.

It only takes a few tight circles rubbed against her clit with his thumb for her to fall apart, her thighs trembling as he holds them apart. Finally, she lets go of the near-death grip on his hair, the roots stinging in the most pleasant way, dragging him up her body and wrapping her hand around his cock. She strokes him slowly, teasingly in the way she had explicitly instructed him not to do. But she is more gracious, moving him to position him at her core after a few flicks of her wrist.

Kassandra rolls her hips once and it’s all he needs. He thrusts inside of her, their moans mixing together. He kisses at her neck until she’s grabbing at his jaw, pulling him up to her lips, crushing them together, kissing him like she’s drowning. He can make out soft noises from her over the sound of their skin slapping against each other. His head is swimming as he fucks her, her little moans that slip out spurring him on further, thrusting harder until they’re both sweating. He shifts slightly, angling himself deeper inside of her, her gasps getting louder.

She’s getting close to the edge again, Brasidas can tell by her rising pitch, the way she meets every thrust he gives. His own movements are choppier, more frantic as he tries to keep himself from spilling inside of her. She eggs him on though, whispering desperate encouragements into his ear. She doesn’t beg, doesn’t ask, instead gasps and hisses when he hits just the right spot. He reaches between them, rubbing at her apex, guiding her through another orgasm. She pulls him in, her arms wrapping tight around his shoulders and drags blunt fingernails down his back. He follows her over the edge, spilling inside of her with a deep, guttural groan.

They’re still for a moment, moved only by the small waves beneath them, gasping for breath as sweat drips down their foreheads. There’s not much room on Kassandra’s small mattress for both of them, but he manages to somehow wedge himself between her and the wall, her scooting over only after she’s somewhat regulated her breathing again. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her smug grin, that same look when she’s finally outwitted an opponent. Wordlessly, he raises an eyebrow at her, words hard to form in his drunk, sated mind. “You know, the night’s still young,” she says pointedly, pressing her side teasingly against his, “and I’m not done with you yet.” And Brasidas knows that if there is one certainty in this world, it is that they will meet again in the future.


	3. softly, the clock of love begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by this song that has really changed my life for the better this winter, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WbQdpVPT-VQ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these drabbles aren't connected in any sort of way; just a collection of my writing so i can easily keep track of it really

The breeze is warm on Kassandra’s face as it rolls in from the sea, the blossoming of spring welcome after a dreary winter. The grass is soft beneath them, the blades slowly breathing to life in the past week. She kicks her heels against the edge of the cliff, paying too close attention to making sure she doesn’t hit Brasidas’s shin in her carelessness. The sun has risen high enough to emerge from behind Fort Praisai finally and the sunlight on her back adds to the warmth she feels inside from being close to Brasidas.

Her stomach turns in stupid knots as she stretches her arms out behind her, grasping the grass between her fingers. Brasidas had asked her out here, to show her something, though she’s not sure the Aegean is more anymore beautiful here than anywhere else on its coast. Still, she had agreed to it and here they were, awkward conversation filled with awkward laughs and trying not to show too deep of emotions. In a fit of vanity, she had even chosen to wear a simple orange peplos rather than her regular armor.

The conversation dulled from “It’s a beautiful view,” to talk about the future, where she was going to be going next, where Brasidas’s next assignment would take him. A small butterfly, yellow with a swirl of white on its wings, lands on Brasidas’s knee. It bathes itself in the sunshine, wings closing and opening slowly. Kassandra reaches forward wordlessly, holding her hand to it like it will sniff at it like a dog or a horse. Predictably, the butterfly flutters away into the wind, leaving her with her hand pressed against Brasidas’s knee. 

Kassandra is entirely too old to feel this nervous about another person. She’s spent her life drenching herself in others’ blood, taking lovers where she pleased, towering over anyone who threatened her. But here, sitting on an insignificant cliff in Lakonia, her heart pounds loudly in her chest as she stares into Brasdias’s eyes. A strong wind blows in from the sea, whipping her hair around before settling embarrassingly. She feels his hand eclipse hers, the soft squeeze of his grip on her hand. 

Brasidas leans in, brushing his lips against hers in a soft kiss, one fit for the first breaths of spring. Above her, the sky spins and the earth rattles beneath her, but she grips Brasidas’s hand back and grounds herself in him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 5 - blowjob

Kassandra has spent too much time in Lakonia recently, Sparta specifically. She vaguely wonders if anyone else has noticed because nobody has uttered a single word when she commands the Adrestia to Gytheion for the second time in the span of a month. Obviously, Barnabas has yet to take note or she’d never hear the end of it. “What’s in Sparta this time Kassandra?” he’d ask and she’d have to make up some excuse other than the fact that she spends too many nights sleeping in Brasidas's bed. Maybe Herodotos knows, gods he has to by now, but she doubts that he knows about the commander. Perhaps Herodotos assumes she spends the nights in her recently reclaimed family home or traversing lands that she hasn’t step foot on in almost twenty years.

One of the things about Brasidas's bed that Kassandra loves the most is the fact that she doesn’t have to worry here. When she wakes in the morning with the sunrays shining in the window and onto the blanket, she doesn’t have to jump up immediately and keep moving. She doesn’t have to sleep lightly, keeping one ear out for Ikaros's cry of danger. For the first time in her life it seems, she can laze in bed and relax. Recently, she’s found out that she has “a side” of his bed and that alone makes her heart clench in ways that she would never admit out of embarrassment.

Brasidas is out for an early morning training, since his injury in Pylos he has more difficulty enduring the grueling pace of the younger soldiers and his rank relieves him from duty by late morning. He had teased her for hours last night, winding her up and toying with her until she had growled and taken what she wanted from him. She knows that Brasidas woke this morning groggy from the last night, but she promised him sufficient payback when he got home with the aim of distracting him throughout his entire training.

Kassandra's plan has worked by the way that Brasidas comes home hastily. He opens the front door too loudly to be an accident (his years as a spy had definitely trained him in the art of silence) and sets his shield and spear down on the table in the main room. Through the doorway to the bedroom she can see his shadow in the main room, his form tense. Eventually he appears in front of the doorframe, his gaze a mix of arousal and amusement. “You’re still in bed? It’s already past noon.”

Kassandra stretches a bare leg out from under the thin blanket, reveling in the way Brasidas's eyes follow her movement. “Why get out of bed when I’m just going to end up back in it in a few hours?” Kassandra cocks an eyebrow at him and watches him swallow hard. She sits up lazily, letting the blanket fall away, revealing her breasts and chuckles at the way Brasidas nearly trips over his feet trying to get to her.

He kisses her with built up tension, teeth nipping at her bottom lip and sliding his fingers through her hair. She brings her hand up to grasp at the back of his neck, pleased by the sweat on the back of his neck that hasn’t even dried yet. Had he run all the way home, she wonders. He’s still in his training armor, her fingers brushing the back of his chiton underneath the leather. She utilizes the angle she has on his neck, pulling him down to hover over her on the bed. Deftly she undoes the buckles and straps and ties on his armor, tugging it loose until he stands again and sheds it completely.

Brasidas wastes no time ridding himself of the sweat-soaked chiton and his smallclothes before he’s back on the bed, his hands grabbing at her jaw and angling her lips against his. She takes the opportunity to flip them (onto _his_ side of the bed), Kassandra straddling him. He moves his hands down her torso as they kiss, heated and demanding and she grabs at his hands as they toy with her taut nipples. She pins him back onto the bed, the hold playful, one that he could easily break and one that she could easily defend.

When she lets go of his hands, he keeps them there obediently, his irises wide and black and watching her. She leaves kisses down his body, tongue licking at scars and sucking soft marks into the skin that will be covered by his chiton tomorrow. The color blooms on his skin beneath her lips and she groans softly at her own handiwork. Brasidas moves his hands behind him to cushion his head as she sucks a hard mark into his hip that will be visible for days to come.

He’s hard and Kassandra hasn’t even really started teasing him yet. She takes him into her hand, running her hand up and down the shaft just enough to inch him closer to the edge but not enough to give any real satisfaction. Above her, he groans, low and deep in his chest. He wants more, but she’s just only just begun.

She locks eyes with him when she leans down and licks a solid line from base to tip. His cock matches the taste of his sweat in his clavicle but heavier, muskier on her tongue. She traces his thick vein on the underside of his cock with the tip of her tongue, enough to tease and he groans out in frustration, “By the gods Kassandra.” But he doesn’t make any move to make her speed up, instead resigning himself to her torture.

Kassandra relents after a few more teasing sweeps of her tongue, taking him into her mouth fully. He doesn’t bother to try and stifle his moan and she feels the space between her own legs throb needily. But not now, now she focuses on her tongue movements on his cock, the twist of her hand on the base and milking as many noises as she can from her lover. She moves her other hand up to his balls, rolling them between her fingers and listening to the way Brasidas’s breathing gets deeper and his moans become more ragged.

He’s close, almost at the edge when she pulls off and hears his frustrated groan. She strokes him languidly, just enough to keep him at the brink, “Kassandra, for the love of Zeus.”

She kisses the tip sweetly, smiling at him with a tease. “I told you, I was going to get back at you,” she says, both of them knowing that the roughness in her voice is because of his cock. Brasidas’s head falls back onto the pillows, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes in frustration. Kassandra has to admit, it is fun in a way stringing Brasidas along like this, her hand and mouth controlling him. He had done it for what felt like hours last night, fingers deep inside of her and his tongue against her clit until she was seeing stars and then backing off.  

But she was never very patient to begin with. Brasidas could spend hours between her legs, ignoring his own desire and needs just to watch her kick her heels into the mattress and then cry out when he pulled her back from her orgasm. She, on the other hand, is frustrated by her own teasing, wanting nothing more than to feel him stretch her completely.

Kassandra gives in, surging back up onto her elbows and sucks him down again. The sound of her mouth against him, saliva running down his length, is punctuated only by his curses. He’s almost there, reaching down and threading his hand through her hair, tugging at her roots. Instead she hollows her cheeks around him, sucking harder until his thighs are shaking and he releases into her mouth. Kassandra swallows him down, pulling off of him when his body is slack beneath her and his moans quiet.  

She retraces her kisses down, pressing soft, loving kisses against red spots left by her minutes ago. “You evil minx,” he mutters into her ear as he grabs at her breast, fingers tugging on her nipple. His hands trail down her body, thumb brushing at her clit and fingers sliding through her soaking folds. “If that’s how you want to play it, then so be it.”


	5. the earth and the stars and those of us in between

Kassandra is seeing red when she leaves her meeting with King Archidamos, blood pumping angrily in her ears and her fists are balled next to her sides. She needs someone to rant to, vent without hearing things like “The king is just fulfilling his duty; you can’t be mad at him.” And so she heads towards her family home, to collect Phobos and to ride to Gytheion where she’ll tell Barnabas to ready the Adrestia to sail absolutely anywhere in Hellas that isn’t Sparta.

There’s a light touch on her shoulder as she turns a corner, a gripping of someone’s hand on her bicep, and in a flash she has her spear pointed at their jugular vein and threatening to pierce. Brasidas looks slightly scared at her anger when she blinks and realizes who has grabbed at her. “I knew you were angry, but this seems to be more than that.” Brasidas looks at the spear which is pressed with its point into his neck, dimpling the skin there. “What happened with King Archidamos?”

Kassandra removes her spear and sheathes it on her back, trying to calm herself enough to explain to Brasidas. It’s a futile effort, because so much as thinking about Archidamos’s face makes Kassandra seethe. “If I try to explain it here, I may be arrested for threatening the king’s life.”

“Home?”

“Home.” Luckily, Brasidas doesn’t live far from the King’s meeting chambers and Kassandra is somehow able to keep herself from exploding in anger on the way there. Brasidas motions for her to enter, closing the door behind her, and (she would have missed it if she didn’t know him intimately) cowers slightly at her ill-tamed rage. Admittedly, she did almost decapitate him for not hearing him call her name. In the safety of Brasidas’s home, someplace that she’s spent too many nights inside, Kassandra tries her hardest to let her rage out in a slow, controlled stream. “Archidamos,” she starts slowly, forgoing his title because she wants to make subtle jabs at him even if he’s not around to hear, “said I have to get married.”

Brasidas lets out half a laugh before he contains it at Kassandra’s burning stare. She balls her fists as she continues, nails digging into her palms and breaking the thick skin. Blood trickles from between her fingers and her jaw aches from how hard she clenches. “If I don’t, then there will be punishment against not only me, but my mater and pater for having an unwed daughter past marrying age.” Kassandra paces, tries to keep herself from lashing out at Brasidas who is just standing there like an animal in the wrong spot at the wrong time. “Can’t make exceptions for me. Can’t break the law despite all that I’ve done for Sparta. He wanted Boeotia? I gave it to him. Pausanias wanted the Olympic wreaths? I brought them home for him. The traitor king threatens all of Sparta’s men and women? I took him out. And for what? To become a Spartan citizen and be bound by rules created by men in their graves with their bodies already digested by maggots. Archidamos can have his fucking citizenship back, I’m leaving Sparta.”

Brasidas, for all his bravery, stands between Kassandra and the door, his hands up and halting her from leaving. “Kassandra,” Brasidas says softly, in a voice that Kassandra has only heard when she cried about Phoibe to him or asked if risking his life to bring Alexios back to Sparta was the right decision, “wait.”

“ _What_?” she snarls out and Brasidas flinches a single muscle. She clears her throat, forces herself to breathe through her nose and tries again. “What?”

“Marry me then,” Brasidas offers. Kassandra wants to punch him in the face for the suggestion. She is not the marrying type, the idea of having a husband she has to care for and children to worry about sickens her, and yet she feels none of the rage she expected when he asks her. “King Archidamos must be reviewing his census because he spoke with me three days ago about the same thing. Threatened the same punishment against myself and my parents.” She doesn’t answer his proposal, instead shoves Brasidas out of the way too hard, and leaves.

On her ride to Gytheion, she comes across a pack of wolves that snarl at her and she guts them, savoring the way that her rage has a controlled, calculated way of easing out of her body. Their blood feels good on her hands and their bodies are riddled with unnecessary slashes from her blade where she unleashed too much anger. She climbs the Adrestia without washing their drying blood from her body, the crew scattering like birds to the wind when she boards the ship. “Barnabas,” she yells out and sees as Barnabas meekly answers her call, “We’re leaving.”

“Where to Captain?” Barnabas asks hesitantly, not unused to her anger, but unfamiliar with this magnitude.

“Anywhere but fucking Sparta.”

Herodotos, gods bless him, stops Barnabas from rallying the order to the crew. “Kassandra, come and talk first. Then we can decide if leaving in such a rush is the wisest course of action.” Kassandra tells him Archidamos’s threat again, but now she has settled a bit from the red rage of earlier to a cool sustained anger. Barnabas opens his mouth to say something when Herodotos shushes him immediately, “If you leave, Archidamos will not spare your parents and you will never be able to return to Sparta again. You would throw all your years of work away because you disagree with the law?” Gently, Herodotos takes her hands into his own and rubs them soothingly, fatherly, “You already love Brasidas, so why would marrying him be so terrible?” The anger in her subsides slowly, with every soft press of Herodotos’s thumb against the back of her hand, his skin beginning to stain red with the dried wolves’ blood. “Of all the men in Hellas, in the world, I can think of none better for you than Brasidas.”

Kassandra leaves as quickly as she boarded the Adrestia. She pushes Phobos too fast and apologizes when Phobos strains to accommodate her rider, but she needs to find Brasidas. Make amends. Apologize. She tries to remember wedding celebrations, the necessary order of things, from her childhood before Kephallonia but the details are fuzzy. Kassandra gives Phobos a few extra carrots from her bag when she ties the horse to the front of Brasidas’s home. His windows are dark and she prays to Zeus that he isn’t unforgivably angry with her.

Brasidas opens the door after she knocks and she kisses him hard enough to bruise. “I’m sorry,” she breathes out, reaching for his shoulder where Alexios pierced him with his own spear in Amphipolis. He doesn’t seem injured from when she pushed him away earlier and she thanks the gods in her mind. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Brasidas chuckles at her in the darkness of his home and his eyes are red and puffy. Had he been crying? She hates herself entirely because it’s almost certainly because of her. “It’s alright Kassandra,” he says, but it’s not.

“No,” she argues, closing the door behind them so the draft doesn’t flood in, “It’s not alright. I acted out and you were only trying to help.” Kassandra shakes her head with tears in her own eyes, ashamed at her earlier behavior, akin to a toddler crying out about the unfairness of life. “I will marry you.”

Brasidas envelops her in his arms, smile pressed to the crook of her neck, “I am glad.” He pulls her to his bedroom and she presses kisses to his bare chest, whispering how much she loves him, how she’ll ensure that he’ll always be there for her despite whatever the gods throw at them. He assures her of her freedom, tells her that no matter what the law might say that their marriage will be their own, that he will never try to tie her down against her will.

“We’ll have to have our parents arrange the marriage,” Brasidas says in the morning when they’re eating a breakfast of fruits. “I will tell my pater to contact Nikolaos this week. You should warn your parents.” _Make sure they approve_.

“Maybe Barnabas and Herodotos would be more willing,” Kassandra muses as pomegranate juice drips down her chin.

Alexios, predictably, laughs for whole minutes when Kassandra tells Myrrine and Nikolaos of the news. The saving grace is that Stentor is away at the barracks still, but Kassandra’s ears still burn with a mixture of embarrassment and rage at her brother. “You wait for your name to come up on the census in seven years.” Alexios stops after that, because if Kassandra isn’t exempt, the woman who’d risked her life time and time again for Sparta, then neither is he.

Myrrine and Nikolaos are surprisingly quiet when Kassandra says that she’s already agreed to the proposal. “I approve,” Myrrine says after a time, Nikolaos nodding silently in agreement. “Brasidas is a good man. You love each other?”

“Yes,” Kassandra reassures and Alexios snorts to himself in the corner.

“Then I see no reason to decline the proposal. What do you know about Spartan marriage ceremonies?” Brasidas will have to pretend to abduct her and consummate the marriage. Myrrine hesitates after explaining, “You will have to cut your hair off, Kassandra.”

Kassandra laughs, “No.” Myrrine frowns at the disobedience, though she doesn’t seem surprised. “I’ll marry Brasidas for Archidamos, but I won’t change for him.”

Myrrine sighs, shaking her head, “I can’t imagine you would.”

Brasidas’s father, Tellis, contacts Nikolaos the next day and an agreement is reached before the sun sets that evening. Acting doesn’t come naturally to Kassandra and she almost laughs when Brasidas tries to pretend to abduct her three days later. Ever since Amphipolis and Pylos, his strength was uneven and she instead opts to walk next to him to his home – their home now, she supposes – rather than let him carry her over his shoulder. The entire thing is anticlimactic, Brasidas even leaving out their simple dinner of vegetable stew on the table while he pretended to steal his bride away in the middle of the night like he’s supposed to. Perhaps it would have been more dramatic if they were still twenty, Brasidas at full strength and Kassandra still unsure of her own power. But this is better, the simple transition from being unmarried to married the length of a walk to the home she’s informally claimed.

Brasidas attacks her with kisses when he closes the front door, his hands in her hair, pulling at its binding until the little piece of leather falls to the floor. His hands are on her lower back when she pulls away from him, pressing her finger to his lips, “Take me to our bed, husband.” Brasidas lets out a low groan at her words, lowering his hands to her ass and lifting her up effortlessly. She kisses him, her hands on his jaw as he carries her to the bedroom, throwing her unceremoniously onto the bed that she has spent so many nights strung out on.

He bites into the soft skin at her clavicle, tongue sweeping across the dip as he marks her. His hands roam her body, grabbing at the simple red peplos her mother had given her, pulling it up around her thighs. Kassandra inches back out of his grasp to pull it off, throwing it to the floor. Brasidas lets out a soft moan as she pulls it off, “Nothing underneath?” Kassandra winks at him and kisses him.

She grabs at his own clothing, suddenly too much and too rough against her bare skin, tugging at it until he pulls the chiton off and kicks his small clothes off. He returns to her, propping himself up on his good side as he slides his fingers through her slick, spreading her, groaning at how wet she is already. She arches into his touch, chasing the feeling of his fingers against her folds as he kisses her neck, making soft noises of approval. He slides two fingers into her, stretching her but it’s not enough and she bucks her hips against him fruitlessly. “Brasidas,” she whines softly against him, “Just fuck me already.”

She kisses the smirk on his face away as she grabs at his cock, pulling him towards her. “Anything for my wife,” he teases and she kind of hates it but loves it at the same time. Brasidas removes his fingers from her, bringing them up and licking them while she strokes him, positions him over her, wraps her thighs around his hips and tries to push him inside with her legs. He teases her though, sliding himself through her folds, the head of his cock brushing too gently against her clit. She groans in frustration, rutting her hips uselessly against him as he chuckles softly in her ear.

“I will kill you, Brasidas,” Kassandra threatens as he presses the shaft against her in a way that makes her mind fuzzy and her nerves fry with need. He repositions himself, holding out as Kassandra continues to threaten him, “Run my spear through your gods damned chest if you don’t fuck me now.” Kassandra moans, low and deep in her chest as he slides in, the wind escaping her lungs and her core shaking. He sets solid thrusts and a quick pace that leaves Kassandra little time to quip at him between gasps.

He buries his face in the space between her neck and shoulder, licking at the salty skin and kissing at the softest dusting of freckles there. “Kassandra,” he mutters against her, his voice ragged and unsteady as he fucks her, “I swear to every god on Olympus I will make you the happiest woman in Sparta.”

She wants to respond, but he thrusts inside of her at the spot that makes her see stars in her vision. She grabs at his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin as she feels the heat pooling in her belly with every one of his thrusts. She’s so close, so close, and she realizes she’s whispering it against his skin when he presses his finger against her clit and she breaks. She feels her orgasm roll over her along with Brasidas’s, emptying inside of her with grunts and the whine of her name.

When her vision comes back to her, Brasidas has collapsed on the bed next to her, both of them panting with sweat running down their brows. They lay there for a long moment, “Did you mean what you said?” Kassandra asks, her voice hoarse from her moans.

“About you? I’d promise you the entire world if you’d want it, Kassandra.” Brasidas grabs at her hand, his thumb rubbing lovingly over the scar on the back of it.

Kassandra tries to imagine what the poets in Athens would say in response, what beautiful words they would string together to such a heartful promise. Instead, she settles on, “And I’d bring you the stars.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spartan marriage ceremonies are incredibly lame and i felt cheated while researching for this fic


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little drabble that takes place after the earth and the stars and those of us in between

Kassandra technically comes with a dowry despite the way she threatened Nikolaos if he undervalued her. They settle on however much drachmae she has on her person and on the Adrestia, all the money she’s earned. Which is fine, Nikolaos has years of lost wages to his desertion and Kassandra has more than enough money to keep both her and Brasidas afloat for the rest of their lives. It’s just a legal term anyways.

Upon marriage, she’s supposed to deal with their finances and household affairs which is really a terrible idea. She doesn’t make dumb decisions about things like how much to pay their servant because if it were up to her they wouldn’t have one to begin with. But as proper Spartan citizens, they’re supposed to have at least one and Amara shows up on their doorstep one day anyways. At least their days of eating dried meat and fruit are over.

Amara refuses the payment once she sees the amount, leaving the money laying on the table. Brasidas confronts her about it later that night after he returns from the training grounds where he trains young boys. “I thought it was a fair amount.”

“It was 100 drachmae for a week of work.” Brasidas says, incredulously. Kassandra shrugs her shoulders and continues combing through her hair. Brasidas pulls the blanket back on their bed, climbing in next to her. “Kassandra,” he starts cautiously and waits for her to pause, “How much drachmae was your dowry exactly?”

Kassandra hates when he puts it that way. It wasn’t a fucking dowry; it was what she had earned over nine years of traveling from Makedonia to Messenia and taking any job that paid. But she can’t blame him exactly, most women came with nothing more than their dowry and the clothes on their backs. “Well, in my pack there’s about 10,000 drachmae.” Brasidas next to her lets out a gasp, his eyes wide. She almost feels bad for hiding the amount from him, but after working for kings, it’s doesn’t feel like much. “Good gear and upgrades are expensive,” she counters but Brasidas doesn’t look convinced.

“Do I want to know how much you have stashed on your ship?”

Brasidas visibly braces himself for the amount, “I haven’t counted in a long time, maybe 250,000?” Rather, she hasn’t asked Herodotos who deals with all that mess, probably one of the only people on the ship who can calculate such numbers without using his fingers. With such a healthy supply there was rarely a need to worry.

Brasidas chokes on his intake of air, sputtering, “How does the Adrestia not sink!?” Kassandra returns to her hair, Brasidas still mulling over everything. “You have enough money to buy Sparta itself, and yet you’re content to live in this two room apartment.”

She leans over, kissing him softly before she settles into bed, pressing herself against him. “Anywhere with you is good enough for me.”


	7. only for tonight, i want to be selfish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heavy au. kassandra and alexios were never condemned to fall from the face of mount taygetos and both grew up happily in sparta. kassandra married brasidas at the age of 19, but as all young spartan couples, typically only gets to see him in the darkness of night.
> 
> inspired by https://youtu.be/E8Y7QBhU6Co

Brasidas is not quiet when he opens the door to their home, though perhaps it’s on purpose. Certainly he’s learned the art of stealth from his training days as one of the top pupils in his age group. He closes the door and Kassandra can hear his sandals pad across their floor to the bedroom. She waits in their bed, her back to the door and she'll pretend to be surprised when he presses himself against her in the dark.

The bed sags under his weight and there’s a rush of cold air as Brasidas pulls the covers back. He kisses at the back of her neck and she pretends to stir from a light sleep. “Brasidas,” she breathes out as his hand comes to cup her breast. They don’t have enough time together before he’ll have to return to the military camp. She rolls over to face him, the moon providing ample light in their bedroom, “I missed you, my love.” It’s been nearly three weeks since their last meeting.

Those stupid old wives' tales had been right about that at least. Longing makes the heart grow fonder. And Brasidas is so handsome, so good to her, that honestly Kassandra can still hardly believe he’s really hers. “Where were you last week?” He asks between kisses, his fingers tugging and pulling at her nipple under her tunic. “I came by but you weren’t here.”

They pull their clothing off with kisses interrupting their undress before she lays back on the bed and pulls him over her. “Contract in Messenia. A village was having a significant wolf problem.” Brasidas slips two fingers between her folds, spreading her quickly growing wetness, circling her clit. Against her skin, she can feel Brasidas’s frown.

“And they called for you? To travel across the mountains for some wolves?” Kassandra bites back a moan as Brasidas’s fingers stretch her open. “How much did they pay you?”

Kassandra bucks her hips against his fingers but it’s not enough. Brasidas knows her whines, pulls the fingers from inside of her and positions himself at her entrance. “There was a whole pack killing their livestock. They paid me 250 drachmae.” Kassandra says through a moan, wrapping her legs around Brasidas’s waist as he enters her. Brasidas hums unapprovingly at her answer, annoying work but at least she’d been paid well enough.

Brasidas grunts in her ear, Kassandra sighing as he thrusts into her. “Will you go to the Hyakinthia celebration next week?” Kassandra asks, angling her hips so that he hits that right spot in her that makes her vision white out. This will be his first time since they married last spring, Brasidas away on a campaign in Korinth last summer.

“Yeah,” Brasidas whispers against her neck, his voice rough and Kassandra nearly falls apart at that alone. “Are you going with your mother?” Kassandra nods and feels herself edging closer to the precipice, “I’ll look for you then.” She comes, Brasidas following her shortly after. They kiss for a few moments after, before Brasidas has to return to the barracks.

Hyakinthia approaches rapidly, one of Kassandra’s favorite festivals. The festival brings back memories of her time with her family, when Alexios and Stentor were still young enough to go without worrying about looking tough in front of their friends. Before both of them left for the agoge and for campaigns that flung them and their father to the far corners of Hellas. Now, war was brewing, threatening the fragile treaty between Athens and Sparta, but for three days that doesn’t matter.

The first day of the festival is solemn as it should be, mourning for Hyakinthos and for all the men Sparta has lost to the Athenians in skirmishes that are covered up by the kings. Kassandra spends the day with her mother, a dreary day with dark clouds that spit rain every few hours. It does nothing to alleviate the heat of summer, leaving the earth hot and sticky. She returns to their home that night in case Brasidas decides to visit, but he doesn’t. After the moon has risen, a terrible storm rains down on Sparta, soaking everything in its path with great rolls of thunder. The perfect midsummer storm.

The next morning is cooled by the storm, the rain drying quickly in the early morning sun. By the time that the festivities begin, the air is warm and pleasant. Kassandra dresses in a simple chiton and unfurls her hair from her braid and travels with her mother to Amyklai. In the city there are so many people that Kassandra feels claustrophobic, bumping into people who are bustling around like bees at a hive. The buzz of people sends electricity through her veins though, exciting her as she watches dancers perform to the music of citharas and aulos. She loves this happiness, the way that everyone in Lakonia from spartiates to helots are able to enjoy the festival all the same.

In the mess of all the people, Kassandra wonders how she’ll be able to find Brasidas here. They should have agreed on a meeting spot, but instead she’ll have to keep an eye out for him, turn embarrassingly every time that she sees someone from behind that could potentially be her husband. She finally sees him surrounded by a large group of soldiers, all with cups of wine and laughing with a familiarity that stings. They are still young, she’s only twenty and he only twenty-four, and it will be another six years before they can spend time together outside of their bedroom or the busyness of a festival.

Kassandra catches his eye eventually and Brasidas nods to her, like a long-lost friend rather than the man who knows her intimately. Her cheeks burn when he turns back to his friends, shoving one of the men next to him playfully. They’re not unique, every couple who brings children to the Hyakinthia probably had to endure these torturous years of secret meetings, husbands being scared to be caught visiting their wives. Kassandra follows her mother to a group of musicians playing a Spartan war song that is all too familiar to her.

In the middle of the musicians’ second song, there is a hand on her shoulder and reflex almost results in her flipping the assailant onto their back in front of her. But she stops herself; Hyakinthia, safety. Brasidas smiles at her and it takes too much energy to stop herself from jumping into his arms. “Hey,” he says simply. He looks her over with a long glance that makes sweat prick in her armpits and on her palms, “I like your hair.”

Kassandra laughs, “This mess?” her hair is wavy from her earlier braid and she had tried to untangle it with her fingers this morning to no avail. Brasidas's smile fades a bit and she stutters, “I mean, thanks.” Her ears burn red and she feels like she may burst into flames from her embarrassment. Suddenly she’s aware of how plain she must look compared to all these other girls here, their hair twisted into elaborate buns and brightly colored peplos. She looks below her class, sweaty in her plain chiton with her hair resting against her shoulders. She hopes that she hasn’t disappointed him.

Brasidas grabs at her hand, pulling her away from the musicians and the dancers and the crowd. She has no idea where he’s taking her, but she follows him excitedly. They weave through the throngs of people, Brasidas’s hand holding hers like it’s the most natural thing in the world and Kassandra chases stupid butterflies out of her stomach.

He drops her hand when they come across more of his friends, and he engages in a strained conversation with them. Annoyance thrums inside of her, wondering why men keep talking to Brasidas like they don’t spend enough time together in the military camps. They don’t address her directly and Brasidas doesn’t introduce her as his wife, following the stupid Spartan tradition of pretending that nothing matters to young people except war. The other men do however steal glances at her, she who has the blood of kings in her veins, and their marriage isn’t exactly a secret despite the show they must put on for the rest of the world. Eventually, the soldiers bid them goodbye and Brasidas drags her along the dusty roads of Amyklai.

The sun is inching towards the western horizon now, soon it will be time for the feast and they’ll have to part again, but they’re allowed their freedom until then. He brings her to the outskirts of the village where fewer people linger, most passing by on their way to somewhere in the heart of the town. They round the corner of a building and there stands a large ash tree in the middle of the small square. “I remember this tree,” Kassandra breathes out as Brasidas squeezes her hand, pulling her towards it.

She presses her hand against the harsh bark, feeling the scratch of it against her palm. She twirls around, pressing her back against it as Brasidas corners her, his hand resting on the trunk near her head. “Six years ago here, I promised that I would marry you one day.” She remembers that year’s Hyakinthia, when she’d first noticed Brasidas. Fourteen years old, giggling to her friends in the field only a few steps away about future marriages and love. Brasidas, with his fellow soldiers who eyed them teasingly, his beard thin and his limbs lean back then. “I watched you beat Alketas and I knew then,” he leans in for a kiss and she meets him half way, “that I would love you.”

Their lips part, but Brasidas doesn’t move away, instead the warmth of their skin mixing with one another in the shade of the ash tree. “He made Phile cry,” she counters, Brasidas chuckling at the memory. Alketas had been one of the meaner soldiers, a hot head who took joy in tormenting others. He had scars from provoking older boys and he relished in them, thinking they made him look tough. Kassandra can’t remember what Alketas had even said to the group of four girls that had pushed Phile to tears, but it was enough for Kassandra to challenge him.

“A fourteen-year-old girl beating an eighteen-year-old boy is still a sight to see.” She had beaten Alketas into the dust, sweaty but victorious. His friends watched with obvious intrigue at her as she introduced herself as Kassandra of Agiad. Suddenly, she and her friends were cool, the boys chatting to them like they were fellow soldiers. Despite the three other boys, Brasidas had immediately caught Kassandra’s eye, something about the way he watched and thought before he spoke appealed to her.

They missed the feast that night, talking for hours instead under the ash tree about how Brasidas hoped one day that Sparta would not need to send every one of her sons to war. How peace could be achieved without bloodshed. And he had kissed her that night, like he was doing now, his body pressing her against the uneven bark. “Where are those boys now?” Kassandra asks, wrapping her arms around Brasidas’s neck and toying with the fine hairs at the back of his neck.

Brasidas kisses at her jaw, his lips trailing down the column of her neck as he thinks. “Alketas is in Megaris, causing troubles for his commanders. Thales is in Argolis, doing gods knows what. Lagos is in Arkadia, ousting Athenians last I heard.” There’s a twinge of sadness in Brasidas’s voice as he recounts where his friends have been sent to. He is here, in Lakonia still, waiting for his own big break that will set his name apart from the other soldiers. But Kassandra is selfish, wishing that Brasidas will stay here with her. “And your friends?”

Kassandra snorts, “Girls don’t get exciting adventures. Those girls are all married now. Children even. Sophia already has three. Fourth on the way.”

Brasidas separates himself from her collarbone where she guesses a mark will blossom in the morning. “Kassandra,” he says very seriously, almost startlingly so, “you will have an exciting adventure, an odyssey, one day. And I will be there with you, at your side.” She smiles at him, watching as his serious expression melts into the toothy grin that she has grown to love so much. She pulls him in, kissing him deeply as a cool breeze rolls over the heat of the festival.

“One day,” she promises.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos to @thatsouthernanthem for telling me where to find waterfalls in this game

After Amphipolis, Brasidas’s assignments are more clerical work than anything. It’s to be expected, his arm and his leg both half useless some days and he’s more than proven his worth to Sparta by now. So they send him on easy missions, touch base with a captain that’s been on assignment for the past month or blend into civilian life and gather intel by waiting in the weeds. Kassandra travels with him from Makedonia to Messenia, from Lesbos to Krete, and if the rumors are that she is only there to be his body guard then so be it.

Phokis brings back memories of when she first left Kephallonia. Kassandra remembers meeting Herodotos here in Delphi years ago, the early days of trying desperately to find her mother, her introduction with the cult. Brasidas listens to her stories as their horses travel along the dusty roads and the olive farms towards Pharsalos Fort. She remembers Kirrha, her first taste of betrayal at the hands of Kosmos and Brasidas’s hands tighten on his reigns as she recounts how dealing with four cult guards at once had been difficult back then.

The summer days in Phokis are not nearly as hot as in Lakonia, the elevation cooling them as they climb up higher into the mountains. The soldiers nod to them as they enter the fort and Kassandra remembers this place too well, the barracks where she slit Athenian (or cultist dressed as Athenians?) guards’ throats, throwing their bodies down into the well. Brasidas looks horrified as she recounts the places to hide in the fort, places to spear a man where no one would hear. It’s odd walking through the courtyard without worrying about being attacked, but that’s what she gets for being a trusted Spartiate now.

She does not, however, get to listen to the military strategies that Brasidas does, which is fine by her. Brasidas always thrived on that, the intel, sliding armies around like pieces on a game board, stuff that bored Kassandra to tears. Instead she talks with the soldiers on the parapets who eye her like they’re talking to a god. The sun sets and Brasidas’s meetings come to a close. The polemarch invites the two of them to eat in his quarters, his eyes glued to Kassandra, before showing them to their quarters for the night.

It looks like a repurposed closet; which it probably is. It’s small, but cozy, and neither of them carry much with them anyways. The bed is uncomfortable, unsurprising for a Spartan fort where sleeping is only a technicality. “How was the meeting with the polemarch?” Kassandra says in the dark, trying her best to get comfortable on the hard mattress. Honestly, she’d rather sleep outside under the stars than here, but the ground is rough on Brasidas’s shoulder.

Brasidas groans, “Our countrymen are idiots, but that’s to be expected.” He doesn’t delve much deeper than that. He chuckles and Kassandra raises an eyebrow in the dark that he doesn’t see. “He asked if I would dine with him and I told him under the condition that you joined us. He acted like us eating at the same time together was worse than being ruled by Athenians.”

“He seems like a typical Spartan, egotistical and hot-headed.” Kassandra scoffs and brings her hand up to Brasidas’s jaw, running her fingers through his beard, “Nothing like my Spartan.”

He kisses her with a chuckle, “For that I am glad.”

She kisses him awake in the early morning, her lips trailing along his collarbone and across his shoulder. He groans and swats her away gently, both of them listening as a soldier passes their room, his footsteps growing heavier before they fade away. “Kassandra,” he hisses as she goes back to kissing his neck, “Not here.”

She looks up at him, barely able to make out his face in the dark and grins menacingly, “Then come on.” She grabs at his hand, toeing her sandals on and sneaking out of the bedroom closet. The sky is still dark, the sun still deep below the horizon, but the birds chirp anyways in the early twilight. She shows him the tunnel where she had entered the fort so many years ago, far too early for climbing down into the tunnel but Kassandra goads him on anyways. At least this climb has a ladder.

She navigates them through the cave and outside of the fort. They emerge as the sun peaks slowly over the hills, Kassandra with her hair still knotted from sleep and wearing a thin tunic and her sandals. “Come on,” she wiggles her hips and takes off towards the east. It’s only a short distance further until she hears the roar of the waterfall, pulling her sleeping tunic off and leaves it for Brasidas to find. She drops a sandal a few steps further, then her other sandal, before leaving her small clothes just a bit from the water.

Kassandra calls out to him from the pool at the base of the waterfall, the water cold at first but refreshing in the summer heat. Brasidas stands at the edge of the pool, Kassandra’s clothing collected in his hands and shakes his head before dumping them off to the side and stripping himself. Brasidas wades in, complaining about the temperature but she can’t hear him over the sound of the water hitting the rocks. She swims over towards the waterfall, climbing up and onto the ledge beneath it, letting the water fall on top of her, cleansing her.

Brasidas is there a few moments later, cursing Kassandra and her terrible ideas, but he’s smiling. He grabs at her hips, pushing her up against the cliff, water pounding down on top of them, kissing her. He bites at her lower lip until she lets him in, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him impossibly closer. She laughs as he kisses her neck, his hands tickling her sides, warmth radiating from inside of her chest despite the cool waterfall.

It’s slightly distracting, the way the water washes over them relentlessly and she’s grabbing at him again, pulling him back into the depths of the pool. Together they swim over towards another smaller ledge, this one without the waterfall rushing down on their heads. Brasidas pushes her up against the vines and the moss growing on the rocks, more comfortable than the jagged rocks that poked into her back before. He grabs at her wrists, lifting them above her and pinning them against the rocks with one hand, his other hand toying with her breasts and nipples until she’s gasping for him, bucking her hips against him fruitlessly. She whines against him, “Brasidas, fuck me.”

He chuckles against her skin, barely audible over the sound of the waterfall, lifting her up against the cliff face and fills her in one swift movement. Kassandra wraps her legs around his hips, moaning loud and unfiltered, throwing her head back as Brasidas sets a rough pace, quick and sharp. He goes for her neck, nipping at the soft skin of her clavicle, running his tongue along her collarbone, Kassandra melting with his every move. She lowers her arms, digs her fingernails into Brasidas’s back, gasping as he fucks her hard, colors dancing behind her eyelids.

She can barely tell which way is up by the time that Brasidas nudges at her clit with his thumb, rubbing tight, quick circles in time with his thrusts. She tries to hold on, doesn’t want this to end until he’s whispering in her ear, the sound sharp against the dull roar of the water. “Come for me Kassandra.”

Kassandra lets go, her body spasming around his cock, muscles clenching tight as her orgasm rolls through her, wave after crashing wave. Brasidas groans into her neck when he comes, emptying himself into her, filling her with his seed. She can barely stand when he lowers her down, her legs wobbly as she catches her breath against the mossy vines.

She grabs at his jaw, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. Kassandra grabs at his hand, pulling them back towards the pool and jumps in, pulling Brasidas with her. She cups a handful of water and throws it at him, giggling as he chases her deeper into the pool. They tired eventually of him chasing her with her clearly superior evasion skills and climb onto the grassy bank again. The sun is higher now, there will definitely be more soldiers awake and beginning training and she can tell Brasidas is worried about being caught like teenagers. She wrings her hair out and pulls her clothes on, kissing him sweetly before pulling him back into the depths of the cave. “Don’t worry, I can sneak us back in.”

In the dark, Brasidas frowns, “We’re going to need to talk about this fort’s security.”

Kassandra laughs, patting at Brasidas’s good shoulder, “Remind me to tell you about Fort Desphina one day.”


	9. our demons inside and out

The first time that Brasidas sees her, he vaguely wonders if she is a siren. She pulls his men to her, trained, professional soldiers, drawn to her in the middle of burning Pylos where she cuts them down as though they are nothing. There is no denying that she is beautiful, the reflection of the forest fire burning in her eyes as she slices her blade through his chest and his leg with little effort. For a year he is haunted by her, the sick grin of pleasure that she had worn as she cut him open. The next time he sees her, she is on the battlefield of Amphipolis, killing like she does best, his men defenseless against her power once again. Like the last time, he is unable to stop himself from engaging her, too quick of a fight before she is impaling him on his own spear.

Brasidas awakens in the medical tent in Amphipolis, his left shoulder shattered by her doing, wondering what became of her after he went down. Had Alexios, ever the hero, finally beaten her after all these years? Afterwards, there is no report of a woman’s body on the field when he asks the other soldiers. He sails to Sparta in the belly of the trireme, his mind foggy with pain and drugs, unsure of what he will find in his homeland. Four months pass before he is healed well enough to return to duty, which now consists of menial spy work and training in the agoge since his career-ending injury. His arm is lame now, the joint hissing angrily when he pushes it too far. He knows she is here in Sparta, but is unsure of what exactly he will find inside of the Agiad home when he catches Alexios training outside one evening.

In the doorway of Alexios’s home, he is momentarily paralyzed with fear when he sees her in the corner, dressed in a thin tunic and looking so much smaller than he remembers her being. “That’s Kassandra,” Alexios motions towards her and she doesn’t respond to the name at first.

“Brasidas,” he introduces curtly, watching her every movement like a hawk, ready and poised in self-defense.

In her tunic, he can see her scars, so many crisscrossing her arms and legs in every direction. “I understand if you hate me,” Kassandra says, avoiding eye contact with him. She slowly brings her gaze to his face and he is immediately drawn into her beautiful brown eyes like in Pylos, “I’d hate you too if you gutted me like a fucking fish.”

Myrrine sighs defeatedly and quickly shuffles Kassandra out of the room, muttering about how she was being inappropriate to their guest. Alexios rubs at his eyes, obviously familiar with the experience. “She’s still recovering. It’s been rough.”

“She’s strong. She’ll make it.”

For a year, Brasidas throws himself whole-heartedly into his work like he is so good at doing. He doesn’t pay much mind to Alexios and his family beyond simple, occasional pleasantries in the agora when they cross paths. Kassandra never speaks to him, standing next to Myrrine or Alexios mutely, staring him down like an animal trapped in a cage. He is vaguely afraid of her, worrying that one day he will turn around and she will be there to finish her work.

Then at the Hyakinthia, he spots her in Amyklai wearing a beautiful green peplos, her hair relaxed around her shoulders. He learns that the past year has done wonders for her, learning how to adjust to civilian life and society. She is on the outskirts of the city, wandering the fields idly when he sees her, running her hand along the soft stalks of grain. The crowd makes her nervous she explains simply. All of her words are simple, still searching for the right words to convey her clashing emotions. He walks with her, not saying much of anything, mostly letting her soak in the atmosphere of the celebrations that are taking place only a short distance away.

She stops at the end of the row of grain, fingers toying with a leaf and looks up at him with her brown eyes that he could lose himself in. “Brasidas,” she says softly, like she’s afraid whispering his name will ruin everything. Tears brim at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over, “I’m so sorry.” She collapses at the apology, falling to her knees in the field, dirt smudging on her peplos.

He doesn’t stop to think before he is enveloping her in his arms, letting her sob into his chest. Her shoulders shake violently as she apologizes over and over, “How can you forgive me? How can you not hate my very existence? How can you be so kind to me?” He’s kissing her before he can think to stop himself and she is kissing him back, bunching her hands in the fabric of his chiton. They are both startled by a loud whoop that comes from someone inside of the city limits and Kassandra bolts away from him in the split second they are distracted.

Two months pass before he sees her again, nearly colliding with her as he turns a corner on his way home one evening. “Brasidas,” she says breathlessly, pleasantly surprised, “How are you?”

“I am well, Kassandra,” he says, wonders if he should bring up that night at the Hyakinthia or pretend like it didn’t happen. “You?”

Kassandra shifts her weight from one foot to the other, obviously restless for some reason or another. “I,” she starts and stops, a request on the tip of her tongue. He knows from Alexios that they are working on her ability to ask for help, that it is still difficult for her to admit that she is not the perfect god the Cult tried to create. “I am okay.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Are you free tonight?” Kassandra asks before he can beat around the bush by asking politely about her family.

There is a small alarm going off in the back of his head when he invites her into his home for an amphora of wine. “Alexios doesn’t understand. I don’t need pity from him and he always acts like he can fix everything, but I’m not fucking child. He can’t be the hero in every damn story. I want.” She grips the kylix in her hand so tightly Brasidas worries she will shatter it. “I don’t know what I want.”

That night, Kassandra tells him about growing up under the Cult. How Kosmos forced her to become a tool from a young age, chiseling her with fear and anger. When she was five, being severely beaten for using a Doric word in the presence of the Athenian leaders. Or when she was seven and her friend was torn apart for helping a helpless lion cub. Or when she was twelve and denied sleep and food for failing to keep up with her training after twelve hours. And how at the age of twenty-seven, she doesn’t know how to process the feelings that she harbors for him despite the horrors she has inflicted upon him.

She does not trust him and he knows this because she tells him so. She frequently tells him in the middle of the night when she is tangled up with him in his bed, that she does not believe that he will not kill her one day. She is still waiting for him to exact revenge, because once Chrysis had spent three years building up Kassandra’s trust in a village child, only to betray it in the end. Brasidas repeats to her that she is safe here in his home, in Sparta, where he and her family will all protect her. “The moment you let your guard down,” Kassandra whispers in the blackness of midnight, “is when you get knocked down.”

So she does not trust him at first, but she is learning. It is a slow process after all, learning to trust after a lifetime of being taught only fear and anger. He quickly learns that she disappears for days on end when she begins to spend more time at his home than her own. She will leave in the middle of the night, silently, gone for days at a time, retreating to the far-flung corners of the world where she cannot hurt anyone she is beginning to care for. And his heart aches on those days when she is hiding, because he knows that she is hurting inside. Her demons are monstrous, coming from every direction, most of them memories of the terror she has inflicted upon the world with her own two hands.

But it is so easy to love her as she opens up to him, more year after year, telling him of the desires that she buried deep down so long ago. She wants children, so she can finally bring some good into this world. She wants to teach them how to love and watch them grow into the people that she was forbidden from being. But she is terrified of the idea, worrying herself sick imagining how she might inflict pain upon them without even noticing it. She longs for a simple life, one with a small house in the rolling hills of Lakonia. A few goats. A small garden. Somewhere where she doesn’t have to watch her back all the time. When she first tells him this, she scoffs at herself after she says it all, “A stupid child’s dream.” It takes him months to truly convince her that he finds her brave for unearthing these feelings after so long.

Brasidas tries so hard to love her during her bad days, to show her that her emotions are not something to be feared. He sometimes finds her in their bed, sobbing at the memories of the sins she has committed, looking impossibly small. “I have done such terrible things,” she whimpers into his arms, her eyes red and bloodshot. “I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve any of this happiness that you give me.”

He cradles her, her tears rolling down her cheeks and landing hot on his skin. “No Kassandra, no. You are strong. You have earned this.” She wants him to hate her because it would be easier than be reminded of her atrocities every time he undresses. Slowly, the tears subside and her hiccups calm, settling herself against him. She returns to Sparta from her nightmarish mind as he kisses her, pushing thick locks of hair out of her eyes, “You, Kassandra, are my blessing. Please believe me.”

She looks up at him, her brown eyes wide and he remembers the first time he ever looked into them. He should have known back then that he would never forget them. Kassandra kisses him once and presses her nose against his shoulder, peppering the scar she had left him in Amphipolis with more kisses. “I’ll try to believe you.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some more deimos kassandra/brasidas. this is the hill i want to die on tbh.

Brasidas wakes in the early winkings of morning, the sun tinting the sky a soft blue. It can’t be any later than 6am, the soft tweeting of birds coming in through the window. He resettles against Kassandra’s back as he hears the softest call of his name. She’s muttering his name in her sleep, the name barely audible over the sound of Sparta slowly rising outside.

Kassandra sleeps heavier now that she’s in the later stages of her pregnancy with their first child. Still, the idea of children with her makes lightning thrum through his veins, because he never expected to be blessed like this. He drapes an arm over her waist, thumb brushing over one of her many scars that crisscross her body. She is warm against him as she whispers the incoherencies of her dreams. He makes out the word baby in her muttering and his name over and over.

The last four months have flown by since she told him. She left him in the middle of the night once, like she is so prone to do when she remembers her youth. And she was gone for days, eventually months, and he began to worry at the two month mark that she might never come back. Of all the times that she had run away from her demons, it had never been for months at a time. For four long months, he was watching for any sign of her, jumping at the sound of any horse outside their home at night. For four months he prayed to the gods for her safe return one day so he may learn what drove her to such a distance.

Like she left him, she returned in the middle of the night. In their bed she climbed on top of him, her eyes red and bloodshot from the sobbing. He nearly had a heart attack as the tears flowed down her cheeks, apologies falling from her lips as he checked her over. His heart jumped to this throat when he felt her stomach, round, bulging, and he didn’t know how to even ask before she told him, “I’m sorry, Brasidas, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

It occurred to him then that they had never explicitly discussed having children. That she had spent the past four months away from him because she thought him to be angry at the notion of being a father. He kissed her hard enough to bruise, over and over and over, and told her, “By the gods Kassandra, you have blessed me more than I ever deserve. I have dreamed of this for years.”

There was no sleep that night, Brasidas spending hours telling her about his wildest dreams of owning a small house with her, a small hoard of children together. She cried harder at his image, adding bits and pieces like how many girls and how many boys they might have in their fantasy world. How she would teach them to fight and protect themselves and how together they would ensure no children in Hellas were more loved. How she would protect them from any harm that might look their way.

There will be no more sleeping for him this morning, resigning himself to an early rising today. He gently pries himself from her, propping himself up on one arm to watch Kassandra sleep. She looks peaceful when she sleeps, the worry of her past gone from her features. She looks younger. He softly brushes a strand of hair from in front of her face, amused that a year ago she would have roused at that alone. She is still learning the finer delicacies of trust, like curbing her reflexes of self defense at the slightest touch.

Brasidas is impatient to meet their child, to find out if he will be teaching a little boy or a little girl to use a spear first. He knows Kassandra is dying to get their child out, uncomfortable during all waking hours by now. Her feet are swollen and tired, heartburn creeps from most things she eats, the belly interrupting her gait when she walks. She wants to be done with this, but he can tell that she also revels in it. He catches her rubbing absentmindedly at her stomach, whispering soft adorations to their child, promising that she will protect their baby by any force necessary. That she will never let Kosmos so much as breathe in the direction of their child.

Alexios has begun spending more time with Kassandra since she returned three months ago. Brasidas wonders if Alexios is more excited than himself some days at the prospect of being an uncle. Alexios and Thaletas have informally adopted a runty kid from the streets, a scrawny boy named Arion who reminds Brasidas of a younger, rougher Stentor. Despite this and any other children Alexios will adopt, (because Brasidas knows Alexios better than he does at times), they will never birth a child and Brasidas knows Alexios is living somewhat vicariously through Kassandra’s pregnancy. It annoys her, like she has told Brasidas at night, but she is vaguely amused by the whole notion as well.

The morning light grows stronger outside of their home and Brasidas hears the first children playing outside, tardy soldiers rushing to the training grounds. Kassandra gently opens her eyes, stretching her arms out in front of her before settling in again. He watches her, thumb still brushing across her scars and the stretch marks of her belly. She smiles at him, wordlessly appreciative of his presence. “Say good morning to your Pater too,” she says to her stomach, guiding his hand to the top where the baby kicks at him.

“Good morning Poppy,” he says gently, before directing his attention to Kassandra’s soft smile, “And good morning Mater.” The nickname had been Kassandra’s idea, when the baby had first started making its presence known to her. His heart swells, impossibly large, as he kisses Kassandra good morning.

——

In two weeks time, she gives birth to their daughter, Krissa. Krissa comes out screaming with lungs that are signature of her strong bloodline, settling only against Kassandra’s breast when she begins to nurse. She is beautiful, strong brown curls and Kassandra’s gorgeous brown eyes. Vaguely, Brasidas can make out his nose, but Kassandra’s features dominate. He strokes down her cheek with the back of his finger before Krissa grabs it, holding on with strength to rival Herakles. Kassandra laughs softly and promises that their daughter will always be protected.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: deimos kassandra/brasidas, protection

There is no lasting freedom from the cult. They both know this deep down, that despite Alexios snuffing out every member he could find, that the cult always reappeared when they thought it dead like daisies after a snow storm. For a few years after Alexios slides his spear through Aspasia’s chest, there are only a few members that pop up every once in a while, worms crawling out of the woodwork. For the most part though, the cult remains relatively silent as Kassandra progresses through two pregnancies, Krissa and Tellis. At the beginning of the third, Alexios finds Brasidas one afternoon at the training grounds where he teaches, asking to speak with him as quickly as he can. Brasidas makes a slight remark to the other teachers about his shoulder acting up and slips away to a corner where nobody will see him. Brasidas worries, because what is it that cannot wait for him to return home that evening? What is it that makes Alexios leave their shared home and isolate him on the outskirts of the military training grounds?

Alexios speaks quickly, covering his bases before Brasidas can interject with questions or remarks. A small bunch of cult followers, taking stock of their lives now, making plans to target him, Kassandra, their children. For the first time in years, Brasidas worries about Kassandra. She has not disappeared for days on end since Krissa was a toddler, but he can already imagine the cold bed he will find in the morning if Kassandra learns about this small uprising of people out to get her. She will leave in the middle of the night, try to draw the cult away, leave Brasidas to defend the home and their children.

The information says only three cultists who are working under their own operations, trying to locate the family and any descendants of the bloodline. It is unclear how much they actually know about the family beyond the basics, but Brasidas does not want to find out. Alexios will leave immediately to snuff out the leader of the group in Messenia, trusting Brasidas to hold down the fort at home while he is gone. “Do not tell Kassandra,” Brasidas warns and Alexios nods.

Alexios will be back in a week if all goes well. The information from Barnabas is surprisingly thorough and Alexios already knows where their base of operation is. Brasidas locks the front door at night, offers to take care of Tellis if he happens to get fussy, and holds Kassandra tighter at night. They were all fools to have never come up with a plan for this situation.

Brasidas jolts awake at Tellis’s wail, pressing his hand against Kassandra’s shoulder when she rises as well. He kisses her cheek and tells her he will bring the baby to her if he’s hungry for milk. Kassandra nods blearily and pulls the blanket up around her again. When he enters the children’s’ room, Krissa is already holding Tallis in her small arms and blinking at Brasidas through wide eyes. His children are both huddled up in her bed, pressed tight in the corner of their bedroom, Krissa softly soothing Tellis. Tellis calls out for Brasidas excitedly when he sees his father, “Papa! Boom!”

“Pater,” Krissa is less excited than her brother, translating for the baby with a small shake in her voice, “Tellis said he heard something outside.”

Brasidas gives his children quick kisses on the head, tries to pretend like fear is not running through his own veins right now. His reflexes are still sharp from training the boys in the agoge, but he has a family now, children who depend on him, who he would do anything to protect. Vaguely, he wonders if this is the same fear that had paralyzed Lagos all those years ago. But  _his_  hands are not tied behind his back, blindfold over his eyes, trying to pretend like all will be fine if he just keeps on giving the cult what they want. “Krissa,” he says calmly, “It’s probably just a cat, but you and your brother go to your mater if you hear anything else.”

He curses his stupidity as he climbs down the stairs, their stupid naivety that already got them into this situation. He can already hear Kassandra’s wrath, imagining the fire in her eyes if it turns out to be more than a cat. He knows that this is all his own fault; he should have told her, letting his idiotic fear of Kassandra disappearing jeopardize the safety of their family. Brasidas grabs his spear from its usual spot next to the door, unlocking the front door and taking a cautious step outside. He is not in his armor, not enough time when seconds could be the difference between just right and too late, aware of how vulnerable he is should anyone be stalking outside.

There is no sign of anyone outside though, Sparta quiet, devoid of even the singing of crickets. Brasidas makes a quick survey of the surrounding area, animals sleeping in their pens without any disturbance. He returns to the home, his heart rate slowing as he tries to imagine what his son might have potentially heard. He steps through the doorway when he feels a blade pressed against his throat from behind and his mind blanks, pressing the tip of his spear against his assailant’s side, ready to impale.

There is a heartbeat before the blade is lowered and Brasidas sees the spear tip out of the corner of his eye. He turns to face Alexios, both of them still poised ready to attack, relaxing when they realize who their respective invader is. They both let out a held breath, laughing together as Brasidas closes the front door and places his spear back in its usual spot, Alexios setting his own broken spear next to it and beginning to remove his armor. “Tellis thought he heard something outside, which turned out to be you.”

Alexios looks impressed as he pulls the breastplate over his head, “He has good ears then.”

Brasidas waits for Alexios and they climb the stairs together, entering the children’s room. Krissa has since laid Tellis back in his bassinet and is sitting in her bed, her face lighting up when she sees it is only Alexios following her father. “Uncle!” Krissa exclaims, bolting towards them and enveloping Alexios in a big hug. Tellis squeals in the excitement as Brasidas picks him up and brings him over to Alexios, the baby making grabby hands at Alexios’s hair. “Tellis thought you were an Athenian!”

Alexios fakes offense before hushing the children. He offers to put Tellis back to bed, taking the baby and shooing Brasidas out of the room. Krissa giggles as he closes the door and he gets the feeling neither of his children will sleep much more tonight if Alexios starts with his stories. Brasidas climbs back into his bed, Kassandra waking at the rush of cold air when he lifts the blanket. “Alexios is home.”

“Good. I was just about to come looking for you,” Kassandra mutters and nestles back into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not pictured: brasidas getting Absolutely Reamed the next morning when krissa opens her big six-year-old mouth

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: lacedwithlilacs


End file.
